Morgan’s Run

only twice rolled over to squash them; she was considerate enough to leave all six females alive as well as two males Richard intended would be roast suckling pig at Christmas. The pig produce was entirely theirs. If any successful breeder wished to sell pork to the Stores, he or she (Ross had made no sexual distinctions) was paid for it; if anyone wished to salt pork down, he or she was given the salt and a barrel to do so. Ross’s objective was, as he had said at the outset, to take as many convicts as possible off Government Stores. Folk like Aaron Davis, Dick Phillimore, Nat Lucas, George Guest, John Mortimer, Ed Risby and Richard Morgan demonstrated that Ross’s scheme could work, given time.

The Major’s chief troubles rested with the marines and Sirius’s sailors, who refused to soil their hands by growing vegetables and other fresh produce, demanding that Stores supply them. When Stores could not, they were prone to steal vegetables, melons and poultry from the convicts, a transgression Ross punished as severely as if the larceny were the other way around. The grumbles and dark looks among these free people increased; they all believed absolutely that no convicted felon ought to be able to keep the fruits of his or her labors, that every morsel the convicts grew belonged to them and must feed them ahead of any and all convicts. Why should they labor in a garden when so many convicts were growing enough to feed them? Convicts were the property of His Majesty the King, they could own nothing, keep nothing. Convicts had no rights, so who exactly did Major Robert Ross think he was? The fact that Major Ross levied two-thirds of the produce of convicts for Stores was conveniently overlooked; only freed men kept everything.

Christmas Day, a Saturday, dawned fine and clear, though the wind was in the south and a huge sea thundered into Sydney Bay. Richard killed his two boar piglets, Nat Lucas two geese, George Guest three fat ducks, Ed Risby four chickens, and Aaron Davis baked full wheaten bread from flour ground out of grain all of them had grown surplus to Government requirements. They picnicked under the shade and shelter of the pines on Point Hunter with Stephen Donovan, Johnny Livingstone and D’arcy Wentworth and his family, the pork and poultry turning on spits D’arcy had commandeered from the smithy. Stephen and Johnny contributed ten bottles of port, enough for both men and women to enjoy half a pint each.

The Major had publicly proclaimed that this was to be a dry Christmas for the convicts apart from small beer, and the marines were ordered to consume their half-pints away from any convict eyes; King had always given the convicts rum on festive occasions, whereas Ross, especially in the aftermath of discovering what Dyer, Francis and company were planning to do with their sugar cane, had no intention of doing the same.

For Kitty, the day was the happiest she had known since her father died. Sirius canvas was spread out for the women to sit on, pillows provided to ease the awkwardness of the pregnant ones. The pines broke the force of the wind, fathers took their toddlers down onto Turtle Bay to paddle and build sand castles, mothers gossiped comfortably. Kitty had brought her kettle to make tea for her friends, setting it on its own fire. The men, once duty at the water’s edge was over, moved off a little way to squat on their haunches and talk together, while the women attended to the spits, prepared bowls of lettuce, celery, raw onion and raw beans, buried potatoes in the embers. About two in the afternoon they sat down to feast, then the men joined the women in a toast to His Britannic Majesty and afterward lay flat out for a postprandial nap, toddlers cuddled against them.

They are all so easy together, thought Kitty. Because of shared experiences and hardships, she had grown up sufficiently to realize. We are a new sort of English people, and what we make of ourselves will always be influenced by the fact that we were sent here as unwanted by our betters. Betters who are not betters at all, but rather people who do not see beyond their own noses. Out of the blue, it seemed, she suddenly had a feeling that none of these convicted people would return to England. They have lost respect for England. This has become home.

What about herself? Never having been to the shore, she sat with her arms wrapped about her knees and propped her chin on them to look along the reef, invisible under billows of foam and tendrils of spray. Though its spectacular beauty was not lost on her, it did not draw her either. In her mind’s eye true beauty was Faversham, a good big stone house with bullioned casement windows and tumbles of pink and white roses-snapdragons, stocks, columbines, pansies, foxgloves, snowdrops, daffodils-apple orchards, yews, oaks-grassy green meadows, fluffy white sheep, birches and beeches. Oh, the perfume of her father’s flower garden! The placid, dreaming quality which overlay all human activity and endeavor. This Norfolk Island kind of beauty was too alien, too untamable. This humbled and crushed people. Whereas home enhanced people.

She looked up to find Stephen’s eyes upon her, and blushed crimson. Clearly startled, he transferred his gaze at once to the reef. Oh, Stephen! Why will you not love me? Did you love me, Richard would let me go-I know he would. I am not the center of his life. He has put me in my own room and he bolts the door between us, not because I tempt him-if I did, the bolt would be on my side of the door. To shut me out of his home. To pretend that I am not there. Stephen, why will you not love me when I love you? I want to cover your dear face in kisses, take it between my hands and smile into your eyes, see my love shining in their blueness like the sun in a Norfolk Island sky. Why will you not love me?

As soon as the strength went out of the sun and the toddlers became tired enough to grizzle, everybody started packing up. Families dropping off as they went, Richard and Kitty walked home with their share of the leftovers, Nat and Olivia Lucas the last to leave them. Olivia’s tiny son, William, was but recently born, and her twin girls were extremely proud of him. What nice folk!

“Did ye like your first antipodean Christmas?” Richard asked.

“What sort of Christmas? But I did, I did, truly!”

“Antipodean. That is the correct name for the ends of the earth-the Antipodes. It comes from the Greek, and means something like ‘feet at the opposite end.’ ”

The sun had gone behind the hills to the west, Richard’s acre was plunged into deep cold shadow.

“Would ye like a fire?”

“No, I would sooner go to bed,” she said rather mournfully, her mind occupied with Stephen, the way he had turned from her in rejection. Of course she did know why: she was as plain as a pikestaff despite the weight she was so delighted at gaining, fancying that her breasts were now quite as nice as most, her waist as small, her hips as properly hippy.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand, Kitty.”

Obeying, she felt something small and square put into her palm, and opened her eyes. A box. Fingers trembling, she prised its lid off to see that it held a necklet of gold. “Richard!”

“Merry Christmas,” he said, smiling.

She flung her arms about his neck and pressed her cheek to his, then, in an ecstasy of gratitude and pleasure, kissed him on the mouth. For a moment he stayed very still, then put his hands upon her waist and returned her kiss, which transformed it from a thank you to something very different. Far too intelligent to mistake her response for anything other than what it was, he contented himself with savoring her deliciously soft lips. She neither fled nor made a protest; instead she nestled against him and let the kiss go on. Vibrant warmth kindled inside her, she forgot herself and Stephen to follow where his mouth led, thinking with what remained of her to think that this first real kiss of her life was a very exotic and wonderful experience, and that Richard Morgan was more interesting by far than she had realized.

He released her abruptly and went outside; the sound of the axe came immediately after. Kitty stood, immersed in an afterglow, then remembered Stephen and was consumed with guilt. How could she have enjoyed being kissed by Richard when it was Stephen she loved? Tears brimming over, she retreated to her own room and sat on the edge of her bed to weep silently.

The box with the gold necklet in it had somehow stayed in her hand; when her tears dried she took it out and clasped it around her neck, resolved that before next she bathed, she would look at her reflection in the pool. How kind of him! And why did some of her keep wishing that Richard had not let her go?

On the 6th of February 1791, the tender Supply finally arrived in the roads, bearing a letter from Governor Phillip instructing all Sirius personnel to board her for Port Jackson, but promising that those who wanted to take up land and settle in Norfolk Island would be granted 60 acres each and be returned on Supply’s next voyage. Captain John Hunter’s eleven-month exile was over, and not a moment too soon. He had conceived a hatred of Norfolk Island that was never to leave him-and was to bias much of his conduct later in his career. He had also conceived a hatred of Major Robert Ross and every fucken marine in the world. With him Captain Hunter took Johnny Livingstone, back in the fold at last.